The last thing I wanted to do today was work, but it seems that the mind of the artist is inspired by the beauty of life. My life is awesome, usually…you know, except when I make plans. I think I’ve decided today that I’ll never make plans again. It’s really just too messy.

I planned out a few articles, even did some interviews, and was in the middle of plotting out some major moments in my manuscript. Then, my body said, “I hate you, Jennifer. Let’s dance.”

I’ve had a back injury for a few years now, and I’ve had seizures (presumably) all of my life. Recently, you know…since making all these plans, this pain in my back became pain in my back, neck, shoulders, hips, etc., so a doctor was called upon to figure out why I’m falling apart. My seizures have been getting worse, so of course I bring this up to said doctor about a hundred times. He begins to tell me that I’m too tiny (and I’m not too tiny, I’m just tiny enough, thanks) and that the trauma that caused my back injury is something I have to learn to live with instead of taking a pill for it. Thanks, Doc. I got it. I’ve kind of been doing that for the last five years, and maybe you just need to do your job and help me heal. Mmmkay?

So, I walked out of his office with four new meds and a lab order for blood work. At this point in my life, I’ve been poked enough with a needle that…while it still bothers me…I just really don’t care. Just remember, I’m a tiny woman with tiny arms and tiny veins. Be gentle with me. I can’t take a grown up needle. Give me the infant one, please. You know, like the ones in the NICU.

Fast forward to picking up the meds. I was picking up A) a non-narcotic pain medication, B) an antibiotic for a UTI I didn’t complain about and that he only “suspected” might be there, C) some unknown medication that I couldn’t remember him mentioning, and D) an antidepressant (for the depression I told him creeps in from time to time thanks to the back injury thing I don’t wanna talk about anyway). Got that? Great.

The pharmacist will not… YES, REFUSED…to give me the pain meds. He said, “I’m sorry, but our records show you have a seizure disorder. Are you currently on seizure medications? We don’t see any on your drug list.” Of course, I’m not on any medications, and I told him this…so he clicked around for a few minutes on his computer and finally told me he couldn’t give me the pain medication. His reasons? Wait for it…

THE RISK OF SEIZURES FROM THAT MEDICATION WAS TOO HIGH. Oh, and in combination with the antidepressant…the risk was even higher. Great. Thanks again, Doc.

Finally, I get everything except the pain medication. I start taking the antidepressant and the antibiotic, toss the pills I’m not sure about in my purse because if you want me to take anything you should probably tell me what it is and why I’m taking it, and went on about my day. Everything was fine, back to work, having fun writing…and then I started having seizures. Great.

So, I stopped the antidepressants because those were the only new things I’d introduced that could have possibly caused seizures…oh, and the pharmacist confirmed that it was probably that medication considering it was the only other one that could possibly give me seizures. We agreed these probably never should have been prescribed to me, especially since HE KNEW ABOUT MY SEIZURES. THAT WAS ONE OF THE REASONS I WAS THERE. Great. So, all that time with that doctor and the chaos with the pharmacy…for an antibiotic. Great. Great, great, great. I crumbled up the lab order he gave me because, let’s face it, I wasn’t going back to him.

Eventually, I found a decent doctor. She looked over my chart, talked to me, actually listened, and then started trying to figure out what the other doctor was doing. The medication that I wasn’t even sure about…the one he hadn’t mentioned. It was a medication commonly used for allergies and such, but it can also be used to treat ANOREXIA. Yeah, he was treating me for anorexia without my consent. Yeah. Like, for real…thought I was starving myself to be thin. Doctor Decent kind of shook her head, grinned and looked at me. “You’ve always been little, huh?” I nodded and said, “Yep, and I eat like a grown man. I promise.”

And really, I do. When I’m hungry, I eat. When I’m not hungry, I don’t. I thought that was how this whole eating thing worked. If I’m wrong, someone correct me.

Doctor Decent gave me some pain meds that are non-narcotic and won’t give me seizures (and that’s all I ever wanted really) before sending me out the door with a new lab order…for blood work AND some x-rays. Oh, and she referred me to a neurologist. See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Now that my health is being managed by someone with a completely functioning brain, maybe I can get some work done. I am seriously behind schedule on some of the work I was doing around here. Thanks again and again, Doctor Idiot.

Some of the articles (due to no fault of my own or Doctor Idiot’s) I’ve been planning have been put on indefinite hold. I am working on new stuff for you though, it’s just that some people (mostly other artists like me) don’t plan well and even when they do life takes a big bite out of them and chews it up and spits it back out. In your face. Because it can.

Oh, and it’s my anniversary today. So, Hubby and I decided to temporarily convert our minivan into a camper (it’s really easy and I may do a how-to on it…just because), and disappear from sunset tonight until some late hour on Sunday. Good times–maybe without seizures and pain?